


a secret which takes the lips for the ear

by gazing



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gay Panic, Kissing, LITERALLY, M/M, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, No Angst, Post-Canon, Romance, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winter, its been too long since i wrote them, soft soft soft, the vibes r impeccable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazing/pseuds/gazing
Summary: Aziraphale hangs mistletoe in the bookshop.With no ulterior motive, mind you.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	a secret which takes the lips for the ear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallensherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallensherlock/gifts).



> hello i suddenly got a wave of missing these two so i wrote this <3 it is soft and silly and has probably been written before, but i enjoyed myself. a gift for natalia, love you <3

“I didn't want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you good night — and there's a lot of difference.”  
― Ernest Hemingway

"There we are." Aziraphale smiles.

He looks up at the mistletoe hanging from his doorway. It hangs there, with a white ribbon tied around it, just waiting. Aziraphale has his hands on his hips as he surveys it.

There the mistletoe had been, in the Christmas market, just _waiting_ for someone to buy it. And, well, Aziraphale has always found mistletoe a little... foolish, but it appeals to the old fashioned romantic in him, and anyway, the tradition is innocent enough. He isn't sure his _intentions_ when putting up the mistletoe had been innocent, but it hardly matters. With the book shop decorated for Christmas anyway, the mistletoe simply blends in with the festivities. It doesn't _have_ to mean anything.

Aziraphale smiles a little as he looks up at the mistletoe. He may have purchased it with an ulterior motive, but he's hardly going to admit that, and definitely not to himself.

"Right." Aziraphale says, turning away from the door. He brushes down his sweater and turns back to the shop. "A cup of tea."

"Make one for me, angel." A familiar voice drawls, from one of the armchairs.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaims in delight.

The demon is lounging in one of the armchairs, his sunglasses perched on the end of his nose, and his growing hair tousled a little. His eyes are bright as starlight, as the falling snow, and they glow yellow. With his legs crossed, that smirk on his face, he's _devillish._ And not in the way that Aziraphale would condemn.

"Evening." Crowley waves a hand in greeting, "Put the kettle on."

"A please, would be nice." Aziraphale's smile widens as he flicks a hand, and the kettle begins to boil. Crowley raises an eyebrow.

"You've been generous with your miracles lately." He says, a delighted twinkle in his eyes.

"Well," Aziraphale shrugs, "I've hardly got anything left to lose now."

Tea and the smell of books and Crowley's golden eyes. A perfect winter evening, Aziraphale thinks, sipping from a mug and leaning against the wall beside the mistletoe as Crowley sits in the armchair.

"Did you need something?" Aziraphale says, "Or do we do friendly visits now?"

Crowley laughs.

"You're starting to sound like an old record," Crowley says, but he hardly means it. His chin is resting in his free hand, and he smiles in a way that feels real, that makes Aziraphale feel fuzzy. "That's been playing for 6000 years."

"Now I _was_ going to mention," Crowley continues, "That a bar downtown is having a 60s night tonight."

"Oh, you and the 60s." Aziraphale says affectionately.

"Well? What do you think? I'm assuming it's been a while since you danced, angel."

Aziraphale's hand flutters nervously to his neck. He did used to love dancing.

"Do demons dance?"

"Oh, all the time." Crowley cackles, "I'm not sure you'd like our dancing, though."

"Quite right." Aziraphale pauses, "I'm not sure I'd want to go, Crowley. It seems-"

"Come _on."_ Crowley rises from his chair. He sets his mug on the floor and saunters towards him, and Aziraphale, by instinct, presses himself against the door. "It'll be fun."

"Well, I-" Aziraphale swallows. Crowley's eyes are alluring, glittering yellow under the low bookshop lights, and he smiles as if he _knows_ he could make Aziraphale do anything he wanted to.

" _Please._ " Crowley drawls, looking down at him, and Aziraphale frowns.

"If you think that's going to-" Aziraphale's voice trails away. He looks up, where the mistletoe is dangling above them. "Oh, Crowley. Look."

Crowley looks up, his smile flickering when he sees the plant hanging there above them.

"Really?" He asks, raising his eyebrows. "Did you hang that parasite up there?"

"It's mistletoe."

"I know that _,_ angel." Crowley turns to him, curious, and steps closer, "What are you playing at?"

"It's _festive,_ Crowley _._ " Aziraphale says, keeping his eyes trained on the buttons of Crowley's winter coat. "It's tradition, you see."

"Oh, I see." Crowley's smile widens. "Tradition. You know I thought we buggered tradition when we, you know, stopped the apocalypse, saved the world from impending doom, etcetera"

"Don't be difficult." Aziraphale says, and reaches up to press a kiss to Crowley's cheek.

Aziraphale knows they're just human vessels, that their true forms are bigger, more blinding than their human bodies, but he _does_ feel closer to Crowley like this. Warm skin under lips. The tickle of Crowley's hair against his face. The smell of grass, of spice and the bookshop, that seems to cling to Crowley.

He lingers there for a moment before stepping back.

"There," He says, "That wasn't too hard, was it?"

Crowley blinks at him.

"Ngk."

Oh, perhaps the mistletoe kisses had been Aziraphale's plan all along. Perhaps now when Crowley comes to visit he keeps the mistletoe always in his sights, in case of an opportunity. Maybe he craves that closeness, that intimacy, that comes from being _close_ to Crowley. Being able to hear his own _human_ heart in his ears makes him feel... alive. In love.

There is an evening, that winter, when they are stumbling back from a bar on the edge of the city, and they've miracled their alcohol levels enough to feel that fuzzy tipsiness that Aziraphale finds so delightful. The air is cold, biting, but Aziraphale enjoys it. Even enjoys the snow crunching under his feet, though it makes the hem of his trousers damp. Crowley complains, but he never means it.

Aziraphale is fumbling with the key in the lock, and Crowley is leaning there in the doorway, snowflakes in his hair.

"Honey, I'm home." He drawls, and Aziraphale giggles and pushes him inside.

But then, in the doorway, Aziraphale stops Crowley by taking his arm.

"The mistletoe." He says.

"Oh, you and your _traditions._ " Crowley lets out an affectionate huff, and leans down to press a kiss against his forehead. "Happy, angel?"

Quite, Aziraphale thinks, feeling warm and loved.

Then there is one morning that's different. The winter sun is hardly touching the skies, the early morning not quite light yet. Aziraphale is sitting at his desk, combing through an ancient book with his reading glasses on, when the front door tinkles.

"Crowley?" He calls.

He stands, and Crowley is wiping his feet in the doorway, a habit he picked up from Aziraphale's constant nagging. And oh, doesn't he belong there, framed by the snowy skies, in the home Aziraphale made for himself?

"Hey, angel. I just popped in to say hello." He smiles, somehow softened by the morning. "Going to be busy for a while, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Aziraphale says, disappointed, "Nothing too... apocalyptic, I hope?"

"Actually, no. it's nothing like that." Crowley's smile widens. "I'm having a plant crisis. It's quite severe, you see. I think they're staging a rebellion."

"Ah." Aziraphale's heart warms with affection. "Of course."

He steps towards Crowley, across the old carpet. Sometimes he wonders how many times he's walked to Crowley, and how many times Crowley has walked to him, and how many times they've walked away from each other. A million, perhaps, more.

"Well, I'd better go. I'll see you when my plants decide to behave." Crowley's eyes flicker to the mistletoe.

Aziraphale, curious, doesn't make a move. Alright, he thinks, lets see how this goes.

"Yes, um," Crowley pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, "See you, angel."

He hesitates, and then he leans down and presses a kiss to Aziraphale's mouth. Aziraphale has kissed, has _been_ kissed, before, but it's never come with this warm ache, this longing that seems to bloom and grow as Crowley's palm fits around his cheek.

When you have lived for so many years, moments in time blend into one, decades seconds in the grand scheme of it. But not a moment like this. There are times Aziraphale remembers vividly, most of them in Crowley's company, and this may be one of them. This is the very second that will replay in his mind's eye, over and over again.

Oh, bother, Aziraphale thinks.

Crowley steps backwards, blinking.

"I, uh," He gestures vaguely to the sky, "The mistletoe."

"Yes." Aziraphale swallows, "Yes, of course."

"Well, uh." Crowley says. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and vanishes.

Aziraphale knows of kissing. He's never thought much of it, not often, and it has always been a vague sort of thing, another curiousity that humans get up to that he's never quite understood. But as the winter goes on in a flurry of shy kisses Aziraphale thinks he might understand it now. Something about the closeness, the tentative warmth of it...

And Aziraphale knows, that it it's _Crowley's_ kisses that inspires this traitorous feeling in him. No one else could.

The only _problem_ is that excuses are just that: excuses. They don't quite last forever.

Eventually, Aziraphale has to take down the mistletoe. He always knew he would have to, but he finds himself frowning as he takes down the plant. It sits quietly in his palms, and he runs a hand across the leaves. Next Christmas then, he thinks.

He has lived 6000 years, and yet just one more seems impossible.

Aziraphale is quiet that night, watching his tea swirl in his mug while Crowley tells him an old story he's told Aziraphale a few times before. He sits in the armchair, and Crowley sits cross legged on the floor, with eyes twinkling as usual. Aziraphale sighs and sinks into the chair.

"Alright, angel." Crowley says, "Spit it out."

"Huh?" Aziraphale looks up.

"You're _brooding._ " Crowley smiles, "Come on, what is it?"

"I'm fine." Aziraphale smiles, and Crowley raises an eyebrow.

"No, you're _deflecting._ " Crowley shuffles closer, "I would know."

This makes a smile rise in Aziraphale's cheeks.

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale pauses, "It's silly."

"I'm used to that. C'mon."

Aziraphale pauses, his cheeks turning pink.

"Well now that the holiday season is over-" Aziraphale gestures to the bookshop, "And I've taken down the decorations, I've just been thinking that- Well, the thing is, the um, the _mistletoe,_ it was-"

Crowley blinks.

" _Ah._ " He says, smiling. His eyes crinkle as he stands, and leans over Aziraphale. "Sorry, angel, I don't quite know what you mean. Would you explain it for me?"

Aziraphale swallows. He doesn't know whether to be irritated by or thrilled with Crowley's teasing.

"Oh, you old serpent, you know what I'm trying to say."

"I do?" Crowley hovers over him, shadowed in the book shop.

" _Crowley._ "

"Oh, alright." Crowley snaps his fingers, and mistletoe appears between his fingers. He holds it above their heads. "Is that better?"

Aziraphale pauses. Smiles.

"Yes." He says, and Crowley leans down to kiss him.

How lovely, Aziraphale thinks, to be loved and understood. Crowley climbs into his lap, and Aziraphale just _loves_ him. There's nothing quite like it, in all of the world. The way Crowley trembles makes Aziraphale think it must mean the world to him, too.

"You know," Crowley murmurs into his neck, "You didn't need an excuse to kiss me."

Aziraphale laughs.

"I'll keep that in mind." He says, and Crowley kisses him again.


End file.
